


Mad, Bad & Dangerous To Know

by apollofastingdionysusdrunk (orphan_account)



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller, Troy (2004)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:02:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/apollofastingdionysusdrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Significant points in Achilles and Patroclus' relationship.</p><p>Patroclus is the forgotten son of King Menoetius, hoping that moving to Phthia would offer him the opportunity to step out from shadows and spread his wings. There he meets the devilishly scandalous Achilles, whose golden wings Patroclus convinced to himself blocked the sun, but when supposed insolence marred with humility, inherent audacity with intrinsic confidence, vanity with insecurity, Achilles more or less opens up a shining light to Patroclus. </p><p>Convinced that the gods won’t understand what he and Patroclus have together, Achilles struggles to protect their relationship from his fate, even if it means twisting the truth and tearing his emotions to shreds. Through time and time again Patroclus pursued him, stubborn on his devotion. Their love lasted from teenage years in Phthia, Mount Pelion with the wise centaur Chiron, Skyros with the demands of a newfound wife, and ten years of the Trojan War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad, Bad & Dangerous To Know

Patroclus was beautiful. At first he thought he was blinded by the boy’s eyes and lips, the way his lips curved the syllables of Achilles, how his whole person illuminates with the torchlight, the beauty emanating from the youth in brilliant bursts of light. It was the strangest thing that other boys did not seem to notice it, but stranger yet that the boy himself - with his unblemished thighs and angelic smile - was not even aware of the presence of his lingering beauty, but more so the stunningness of his soul. That was nearly a decade ago, and of course, their teenage hearts of innocent dreams had developed to experienced ones brimming with compassion.

( _The Beginning_ )

Patroclus scowled as the scalding Phthian sun slapped him, tugging at his black hair and heating his dark skin. It was a surprise the world wasn’t ablaze with fire. Even the boy found himself wishing for the cold thickness of winter. At least summer meant long hours swimming out at sea, trying to toughen the slimness of his hips and the speed of his limbs. But those attempts were near pathetic; he was too slender, and eventually he accepted he wasn’t much of a Heracles in terms of build and physique, much less the hero’s skills in the battlefield, though he’d admit his fighting was excelling rather well.

The door behind him bangs, and he turns to face Achilles. The teasing fire on his face was more tempting. “Heading to the sea?” he asks. Patroclus was pretty surprised: the Prince and he barely exchanged a few words before, not even a few pleasantries. That was fine, though, for Achilles’ golden head would probably be too full of himself to even notice him, and Patroclus has his own business to go about with.

“How’d you know?”

Achilles shrugged, fixing a look of nonchalance verging on utter boredom upon his handsome face. “I’ve noticed you went there everyday. With Amyntas.” To his bewilderment, he caught a trace of grimace in Achilles’ voice.

“Have you been watching me - uh, us?” His bewilderment was eclipsed by an overwhelming curiosity.

And Achilles rolled his eyes to the sky - they were the shade of a wintry dawn, but in its irritating superior use it wasn’t so pretty to look at. “Please, _anyone_ with half an eye could sense the sickening intimacy between you and your _friend_. But no, I don’t spy you two at sea...wouldn’t like what I’d see, anyway.”

Patroclus feels his face heat up as he reluctantly met Achilles’ eyes. He was very becoming, one had to give him that. However, the richness of his chiton and the sheer vanity and arrogance of his manner characterized a spoiled pretty boy who expected life to willingly hand him desire at every corner, and if it didn’t, he would use everything in his means to take it. The summer light played on his defined cheekbones, his honey hair lighting to the sun’s gold. He scowled. “Not that it’s a concern of yours, but Amyntas and I’s association consisted merely of platonic friendship.”

“From your side, maybe,” the corner of the prince’s mouth twitches. Then he said, in an uncharacteristically serious tone, “so you two are not in courtship?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Patroclus groans. “Look, I have no desire for such follies. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He wondered why Achilles was even remotely interested in his personal life; frankly, the boy’s only concern seemed to be the flesh and blood of his own body. Most probably he derived pleasure from the prospect that Patroclus was unloved, while he, who envisioned himself as an Adonis and Ganymede, derived the utmost sensual pleasures from courtesans and flattery from hopeless maidens who’d willingly fall to his marble feet by just a cocky smirk. He had no time for that. He rather thought Achilles to be insufferable, more of a Narcissus whose capability to love stretched as far to his own reflection.

Achilles reached out to take hold of his arm, abruptly stopping Patroclus in his tracks. “Listen, I’ve been thinking lately -”

“You do that?” Patroclus asked.

Achilles rolled his eyes. “More than you think. Anyway, since you’re not courting Amyntas, and by your words, no-one at the moment-”

“And suddenly you’re making it your business?”

“Maybe we could give,” he swallowed, “I don’t know, you and me, a try?”

Patroclus spluttered, and in the process pulled his arm away to cross them both over his chest. “What games are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any games!”

“Right, of course you’re not. As if you’re not having a laugh at the expense of my confusion, when I’m just - just a bloody _pawn_ to your entertainment.”

“You’re not a pawn.” His smirk spreads, cocking an eyebrow as he strolled closer and closer to Patroclus, the latter could catch the whiff of earth and almonds and the air of the sea and the oils he used, so overwhelming to the point of alluring seduction he had to step back. “I’m going to tell you what you are: a beauty. A bramble rose in bloom. The wolf without a pack, but doesn’t need one for the individuality it has. A god in flight who doesn’t even realise he’s flying halfway across the stratosphere, and thinks he’s drifting downwards to Hades-”

Patroclus frowns. “How long have you rehearsed this?”

Achilles shrugged. “My poetic prowess doesn’t need rehearsals. Point is, you and I, I think we’ll be one hell of a pair. I’m a charmer, and you’re the genius. I’ve seen the moves you are capable of in the field, and for all its worth I think you’re the second best to me, you are a stunning beauty with enough kindness and patience to match, and the only boy so far who hasn’t bored me to near death like they’re stabbing my heel with their words.” He leaned closer, his blue eyes reflecting the crashing waves. “So what says you?”

“How would I know if it’s worth it?” Achilles knows he’s appealing, but Patroclus won’t let it get to him. He turned and threaded the path towards the olive grove, aware of the prince hastily following him, and was uncomfortably pleased when he falls into step beside him. “I barely know you, the closest anecdote I know of you is your Nereid mother and how she held you by the heel at the River Styx. I don’t understand. I thought you hated my guts, with your mockeries and taunts. All you do is play games - javelin and archery, pretty maidens and petty brawls. You build your reputation around heroism and bravery, but show little sense and humility.”

“Ah!” He sounded pleased. “I’m flattered you’ve been paying so much attention to me.”

“I wager you spend much more attention on me,” he said in an impulse of uncharacteristic arrogance. But Achilles looked embarrassed.

“Which is why we’ll go well together. I’m a prince, I’m bound to pick my _hetaero_ eventually. You’re my best choice.”

“Achilles. You don’t even like me,” he started slowly, now getting irritated at the joke. “In fact, I’m certain you don’t like anyone besides from yourself, and I...I will add no shine to your oh-so-honourable reputation. Go find another cast-off prince, richer and rejected by a more worthier cost than a lost boy whose fury and fists directed him to the spilling blood on another’s head.”

“I like you plenty!” Achilles exclaimed, sounding incredulous. “Why on earth wouldn’t I?”

“Fine, name one reason. And none of that ‘you’re so pretty’ nonsense, I’m not believing an inch of that.”

“You’re different. You’re so different from the rest of them, and not just by good looks, but because you’re not greedy and artificial. You care for everyone else and you honour kindness and compassion, whilst others would rather stand by bloodshed and violence - like me. But kindness doesn’t make you less of a warrior, because like it or not you’re the strongest one out of them all, and it’s been kind to you thus far.” His gaze raked over Patroclus’ frame, from his surprised face to the set of his shoulders to his torso and down his legs. Patroclus blushes.

“Well, you can sing for it all you like, Achilles,” he said, slowing down to face him. “I’m not going to play the role of your scapegoat to your valiant hero. I’m not going to be overshadowed by you, for my voice to never be heard as yours command armies. I’m not even sure I like you that much.” He had to admit the beauty in which Achilles inhabited, the grace and natural royalty of his limbs and muscles, the beams of light dazzling from his person like a vital flame when he entered a room, but he didn’t like Achilles as a person. He found him the epitome of vanity.

“Really?” Achilles blinked. “You don’t like me, at all? Not even for a slight bit? Come off it, you have to admit I’m attractive.”

Unable to fight against the point, Patroclus says, “You’re decent at best.” But at the end of the day, Peleus’ son was an arrogant, pigheaded, vainglorious troublemaker who flirts with words and whose impulsiveness granted him the misfortunes of other people, then managing to charm his way out of the consequences. Still, the sincerity of his confession was abundant and instantly discernible, which confused and pleased Patroclus. Achilles - the living model of Narcissus, though fancied himself as a Heracles - genuinely thought he was a beauty.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Achilles’ scoff shattered his reverie. “You need my help, Patroclus, if you want to be truly respected and awed.”

“I can manage just fine without you.”

“So you choose to isolate yourself. They fear and gossip over you behind your back, because of the reason of your exile. They avert their eyes when you glance at them. You are the social pariah. I can change that. With my favour, they will crowd over you and beg of your sweet affections.”

Patroclus gazed at Achilles, a wry smile twisting his lips. “And why are you so bothered about my name? My advancement will grant you no benefits.”

“Mayhaps all I want is to help you out. From the goodness of my heart.”

Patroclus managed a sound between laughter and disbelief. “I’m not believing any of this conversation.”

“For the sake of Zeus, we can’t play this game all day.”

“We can’t even get along without an argument! What makes you think we’ll make a fittable pair?”

“We have chemistry, Patroclus,” Achilles replied, his voice not betraying a note of insecurity. “You can’t deny that. And what do I seek from this connection? _Even_ more admiration from the other boys. At the moment, I am with the most delectable of them, and the most brilliant of fighters among them. It will further my reputation more, especially after it’s evident you are charmed by me.”

“You are not charming me.” He held Achilles’ stare.

“You are very pretty when you pout, did you know that?”

Patroclus glared at him. “So you get a fit of your own self-worth, fine,” he prompted. “And what else do you want? There is no ‘goodness’ of your heart that I refuse to believe is just simple generosity.”

“I think you know pretty well what I want, a clear enough dichotomy from friendship and promotion. I wager that if I help you, make you my companion for life, my blood-brother, my greatest friend, before long in our intimacy you will desire me in your bed and claim you properly.”

“I am no-one’s eromenos,” Patroclus sneered. “But you will lose, and you will not press me further then.”

“If I lose - and there’s a very slim chance of that outcome - I will leave you among the highest of the social elite and the story of Patroclus, the feather-footed Achilles’ dear but unrequited beloved will be passed on for centuries to come.” He did a bow of striking mockery, and Patroclus was able to fix a look of nonchalance, bordering on boredom, when he rose again. Achilles was quite a charmer, but his ego would need fixing.

“This is just a bet, Achilles, not a promise.”

“Shall we shake on it?” Achilles held out his hand, smooth and strangely beautiful. A hand of a poet.

They shook on it.

**Author's Note:**

> i eat reviews for breakfast


End file.
